rescue me / larry

prologue

Everyone thought Louis Tomlinson was happy. They always saw him with the biggest smiles on his face and he always was the one who would joke around in interviews and during photo-shoots. He was the one who cheered the other band members up when something went wrong or whenever they were sad. He was the one who loved his family to bits and who always made sure to skype his family at least once a week.

The media portrayed his life as perfect, and no one saw a reason why it shouldn't be. Louis was part of the biggest boy band of the world; he had millions of dollars on his bank account and millions of people who looked up to him. Everywhere he went people were waiting for him, crying and screaming once their eyes caught sight of the small guy with the caramel-colored hair.

Girls wanted to marry Louis and most guys would die to be him even though they most likely wouldn't admit it. Louis received letters and tweets on daily basis, telling him how perfect he was, how flawless his appearance was and how angelic his voice sounded in their songs.

Louis had all reasons to be happy with his life, right? But he wasn't.

No one saw Louis the way he saw himself when he stood in front of the mirror at the end of the day, no one heard the voices in Louis' head, telling him horrific things that only he could hear.

People said Louis' face had the perfect shape and that his cheekbones were shaped perfectly. They always commented how beautiful Louis' ocean-blue eyes were, but Louis saw a face that looked crooked. He thought the cheekbones made his face look boney and that his lips were way too thin. He didn't see those perfect eyes; he saw dull, almost grey eyes carelessly staring at back at him when he caught sight of his reflection.

Louis heard people write about his body and that they found his curves sexy, writing about how big his ass was and that this was just perfect, but once again, Louis couldn't see what they were talking about. He didn't see curves, he saw fat – he saw something that he would chop off in a heartbeat if he only could. He hated the way his stomach showed on paparazzi photos, he hated the way his thighs touched when he was standing and he hated his ass. He felt feminine with his appearance, and he felt less a man when he looked into the mirror.

Whenever he sang he felt insecure and he was relieved when his solos were over. All the fans always told him he was a good singer and complained about how little solos Louis had on their albums, but little did they know that it was Louis' decision to not have many solos – Louis hated his voice. It was one more thing that made him feel feminine. It was way too high pitched, all his friends and low, deep and raspy voice and then there was Louis who sounded like his voice forgot to hit puberty.

Louis hated himself, well, no, scratch that – Louis absolutely loathed himself.

He hated himself from the way he looked to things that were hidden deep down, like his soul. Louis thought of himself was a bad person.

He wasn't a bad person as in being a thief, or a murderer. He neither was a bully nor someone who secretly hated everyone and loved it to see their life getting messed up, no – Louis thought this because he was a hypocrite, and he grew up being taught that hypocrites were bad people, people who build their life in a lie.

Louis always told fans with cuts on their arms to stop cutting because it destroyed their life, making them promise that they didn't cut anymore. But when Louis arrived at the hotel the same day he hid himself away in the bathroom, slashing his wrists and his thighs to express his inner pain, to get relieve, to feel something.

Whenever he got a message from a fan saying they were anorexic he told them they were beautiful the way they were, that weight didn't matter. "Beauty comes in many shapes," was a thing Louis would reply, but Louis didn't think of this simply sentence when he was sitting in the bathroom, bend over a toilet to get rid of the food he just confused, to get rid of the calories that would make his curves even bigger. Louis didn't remember his supportive words when he denied dinner once again, telling his friends that he wasn't hungry even though his stomach growled, aching so bad that the feather-haired boy could double over in pain.

Louis wasn't happy, no, he was far from it. Maybe all he needed was a person to love, someone who supported him in his life, someone who reminded him that flaws were humanly. It wasn't helping that the person Louis loved was someone he'd never have a chance with. Louis was in love with a boy, yes, Louis was gay, but this was a fact Louis accepted at the early age of fourteen.

He was in love with his best friend, the curly-haired Harry Styles with whom he always shared a hotel room when they were on tour. Whenever Harry got undressed in front of Louis the boy couldn't help but drool over Harry's perfect body, covered in many senseless, yet kinda hot tattoos. Louis' heart pounded louder when Harry dropped down on the bed next to Louis, cuddling into the duvet.

Every night Louis would fall asleep with one of Harry's arms wrapped around him, comforted by the heat Harry's bigger body was radiating. The sound of the curly-haired boy's snores was like a melody to Louis' ears and he always was close to wrapping his arms around Harry was well, pressing his lips against Harrys, but he knew he could never to it, and it made Louis' heart age.

He was so close to Harry, yet so far.

Everyone thought Louis' life was perfect, but it was marked by pain. No smile Louis smiled was a genuine smile, and he wondered if he could ever be able to smile a real smile.

Louis' life wasn't perfect, and he needed someone to heal his scars before it was too late.
He needed someone to rescue him.